The Fight
by pixel8
Summary: Post Casino Night: I'm really glad you brushed your teeth... Chapter 5 is here. It's finally done!
1. The Fight

**Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, nor can I compete with the brilliance of their creators. **

**This is the beginning of a story suggested by a fellow TWoPer. I don't quite know where I'm going with it yet.**

He remembers how it started. Pam asked him if they could talk about what happened between them, and he agreed.

They go to Starbucks, because the last thing either of them needs is to be overheard by Dwight or one of the warehouse guys while they're rehashing the previous Friday's events.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" He asks evenly, pretending that this thing between them is something that can actually be solved.

"You know, " She says, and widens her eyes at him. He sits back and says nothing, but tilts his head at her to let her know that he's not going to help her. "This thing...this thing we haven't talked about. You _won't_ talk about it. You won't talk to me _at all_."

_That's not true_, he thinks. He distinctly remembers saying good morning just this very morning. And he remembers that he asked her if she wanted anything from the convenience store when he ran out earlier. Even as he points this out to her, he knows what she means. He also remembers her trying to talk to him in the break room, right before Angela came in to get a soda and gave them both the 'get back to work' evil eye. But he's not going to make this any easier for her.

"You know what I mean, Jim. You're not talking to me."

He shifts and leans into the table. He gets his face close enough to hers that she has no choice but to accept him looking directly into her eyes and she can feel the intensity so strongly that she's a little scared.

"I don't have anything more to say, Pam. I meant what I said. I'm sorry if it makes things hard for you. "

"Jim, come on. We're friends. You're my best friend! Can't we go back?" The look on her face and the begging tone in her voice causes heat and anger to rise up in his throat.

"You're not that stupid, Pam, " He says, surprising himself with the venom in his statement. "Go back to what? Putting Dwight's stuff in the vending machine and passing notes in the hall? Watching you leave every day with that idiot? Don't you get it? I haven't been just your friend in so long I wouldn't even know how."

She sits, stunned, unable to respond. She had really thought that once the alcohol and the night and the craziness of the casino event had worn off, Jim would come to his senses and realize they were just friends and everything would go back to normal after a little awkwardness. Forget the fact that his kiss had caused a rush of heat from her head to her toes. Forget the fact that she'd gone home and cried herself to sleep. And forget the dreams that had plagued her since that night, dreams so vivid that when she awoke in the morning she was afraid Roy would smell Jim all over her. Thinking about it now makes her face flush, something that Jim mistakes for anger.

"Roy's not an idiot," She says, quietly.

"No, I'm the idiot," Jim snarls. "Oh, _you're_ mad? That's just great. This is all _my_ fault, is it? I misinterpreted? I don't think so, Pam."

He starts to get up from the table. He's had enough. For her it might be only a blip on her radar, but for him it's the culmination of three years of waiting and hoping. As he pushes his chair back, she puts her hand on top of his.

"No, Jim, wait." She looks up at him, fear shining in her eyes. He doesn't know if she's afraid he's going to yell at her again or if she's afraid of something else, but he jerks his hand out from under hers.

"Nope. Done waiting. What I meant to tell you on Friday was that I was offered a transfer. I don't know why I spilled my guts, but that's all I meant to say. I guess I was hoping you'd stop me."

For the second time in less than a half hour, Pam doesn't know what to say.

"You're leaving?" She asks. Then she gets angry. "When were you going to tell me? I thought we were friends! You didn't even tell me you were interviewing!"

She digs her nails into her coffee cup hard enough to leave a set of half moon shaped dents down the side. She thinks maybe if she digs them in far enough the dam will break and soak her hand with hot coffee. She digs harder, and doesn't realize she's set her jaw and her teeth are clenched.

"Well, gee, Pam. Let's see…you've been a little preoccupied with planning your wedding at work, and I don't really get to talk to you much and oh yeah, didn't I already mention I was going to tell you on _Friday_?"

Again, he's surprised by the anger that's coming out of him. This isn't the way this was supposed to go. He had planned to just listen, and go along with whatever she wanted, and just quietly take his transfer and leave without telling her he was going. He had hoped that at least he could have this, one last memory of being happy and laughing with her.

But that's not what's happening. Her eyes are shining with tears that she won't let fall, and her face is red with frustration. She's been holding her breath, but now she lets it all out in a rush. She stands up and looks down at him, keeping her seething anger barely in check.

"So, which part did you want to talk about?" he asks. "The part where you tell me you can't love me? Or the part where you pretend that you didn't kiss me back?"

"You were supposed to be my friend," She says quietly.

One corner of Jim's mouth quirks up, and as he tilts his head he makes a clicking noise. He regards her from his chair, where his casual lean belies the turmoil under his skin.

"I think we both know that's not true."

She holds his gaze for a long moment and gives an almost imperceptible nod. "That's how it is? All right then. Good luck."

She walks past him. He silently curses himself for sitting with his back to the door, because although he can hear the bell when she opens it, he can't watch her storm off into the sunset.


	2. Two Weeks Notice

The first week, Pam stays away from Jim. Their conversation is limited to work related required discussion, such as whether or not he's gotten any faxes. Her head hurts from trying to look at him without looking up, to try to see if he's looking at her. He's not. At least, not when she's looking for it. He looks at her when he knows for sure her back is turned, or when she's working on the computer and less likely to look up and catch him. Without realizing it, they've staggered their trips to the breakroom so that they don't end up there at the same time.

Per corporate policy, Jim's got two weeks to wrap up his existing accounts, meet with clients, and introduce them to a new rep taking over his territory. Much to Jim's chagrin, Dwight's allowed to take half of his client list, leaving only half for the new guy. But Jim's list is pretty extensive, so it leaves plenty of clients for the new guy to start with. Still, he hates to see three years of cultivated client relationships benefit Dwight, of all people. And it means that Jim has to spend almost every lunch hour with Dwight this week. This proves to be better than it sounds, because at least it gets him away from Pam for a couple of hours a day, and Pam is the last thing he thinks about when his head is full of Dwight.

Both are careful to avoid eye contact. It's too painful, and neither knows what to say. The only people in the office that seem to notice anything's amiss are Dwight and Angela. Pam can tell by the smug smirk on Angela's face when she crosses paths with her. At some point, Angela comments that her Pam-Pong tally hasn't changed in days. Pam gives her a glare that rivals Angela's own staredown abilities, and Angela scuttles off to her own desk in a huff.

Pam can't stop thinking about how badly she botched things at Starbucks, and she knows that any apology she can possibly make isn't going to fix it. She can't tell Jim she's not getting married, and she knows that's about the only thing he wants to hear. She can't tell him how hard it is to be next to him every day and not talk to him. She can't tell him the truth – that she felt that kiss to her core and that she's never stopped thinking about him, not even when he was so angry at her that it scared her. This new Jim is even worse than angry Jim. This Jim that she watches from lowered eyelids every day is apathetic. This is a Jim who doesn't seem to want to have anything to do with her anymore. He doesn't even pretend to laugh at Michael anymore. On the rare occasion that she accidentally catches his eye, she sees nothing of the mischievous schemer that used to be there. In those moments, she quickly looks away before he can hold her gaze.

The second week it gets easier. He's mostly wrapped up his work, so he starts to take half days. Dwight complains that he needs Jim's help with the client list, but Michael agrees with Jim when he says he's given Dwight all the head start he needs. Dwight tries to come up with other reasons that Jim should be in the office all day.

"Geez, Dwight. I'd think you'd be relieved to get rid of me. Who knows what I could do to you if I had an entire day to think about it?" Jim raises his eyebrows at Dwight's gaping mouth.

He snaps it shut. "You're right. I can't wait until you're gone for good."

Jim nods. At least now he's gotten Dwight off of his back for a while. He still has Michael hovering over him, wanting to go to lunch or hang out in his office. But with an end date in sight, he finds Michael a lot easier to tolerate. And it keeps him away from Pam, so that's an added bonus.

He suspects that she thinks he hates her. He doesn't bother to correct that assumption, because it's easier this way. He wants to talk to her, but they can't go back to the easy banter and playful pranks, not the way things are now. Anything he can think of to say to her sounds accusatory in his head, so he thinks it's safer to just not say anything. And if he catches her eye, he'll feel like he has to say something. _How do you just go back to 'hi, how are you?' after what's happened? _

After what seems like an eternity, the final hours of his last Friday at the Scranton branch arrive. Michael insists on throwing a party for him, complete with contraband liquor. He doesn't drink, and neither does Pam. Neither of them are willing to risk letting down any walls. He watches her in his peripheral vision for a while, and when she heads for the breakroom he follows her.

"Pam." She turns, surprised.

"I didn't hear you come in behind me." She looks down and can't meet his eyes. He sees that they're a little red and realizes that she didn't come in here to get anything, she came in here to get away.

"Oh, hey. I just didn't want to leave without saying goodbye to you. I know things haven't been great between us, but…" He can't finish because she's thrown her arms around his neck and is kissing him clumsily, intensity making up for the lack of technique. When she slows down, she fits her mouth to his in a kiss that knocks the breath out of him.

He pushes her back. "What are you doing?'

She slaps her hand over her mouth. "Oh my god. I am _so_ sorry. I just…"

He shakes his head at her. "You can't do this. I'm going."

She hangs her head. "Right. Of course. "

He makes a beeline for his desk and grabs what's left of his stuff. He says a quick thank you and goodbye to everyone and declines when Michael begs him to stay a little longer. He leaves the Jello mold and Dwight's bobblehead on Pam's desk with a note asking her to keep up the good fight.

Pam can't even watch him leave.

The third week, on Jim's first day in Stamford, Pam calls off her wedding.


	3. Pam Alone

Even after a week, Pam finds herself looking up at where Jim used to sit. The sales rep that has replaced Jim fills the space. He's nice enough and actually gets along with Dwight, but she can tell that he's a little unnerved by the way she keeps looking at him.

"Sorry," she whispers across the reception desk when Dwight's not around to hear. "My best friend used to sit there. It's a habit."

Rob nods, but doesn't really get it. He goes back to punching numbers on Jim's phone _No, Rob's phone, Pam, _and tries to ignore the sad girl who keeps looking at him.

She thinks about emailing Jim or calling him every day, but she doesn't. She doesn't know his number in Stamford, and she doesn't have his new email address. It would be easy enough to get either from Michael, and he's dropped enough hints that he'd give them to her, but she's not ready to ask. And even though she knows his cell phone number, she can't figure out what she'd say to him. _Jim, I think I made the biggest mistake of my life. No. Jim, please come back, the wedding's off. Ugh! Jim, if I haven't already done too much damage would you ever think of…_

She bites her lip until she tastes blood and tries to focus back on work. Since Jim left she's discovered a new word game, Text Twist, and has been playing that until her eyes can't focus on the screen anymore.

Every time the phone rings she hopes it's him, even if it's only because he needs to talk to Michael about something he's left behind. But she knows the only thing he left behind is her, and that he won't be calling to get that back any time soon. So when Roy comes up and asks her to go to lunch with him, she agrees. It eases her guilt a little to spend time with him, after she broke his heart, too. _Good job, Pam. Kill two birds with one stone, or whatever it is they say. Nobody who went to high school with me would ever have thought I could reduce two men to tears in the same month._

He didn't really believe she was leaving until she started hauling boxes out to her car. He asked her if it was Halpert, and she said honestly that it wasn't, because thinks she'd have left him even if Jim hadn't pushed her. And then he cried, and she held his head on her lap and cried with him, but she still couldn't stay. And so she got up and left her key on the table and drove off to her new apartment, only one mile away from the old one but a million miles away from her old life.

It's a mistake to spend time with Roy, because it gives him hope that they can maybe stay together. She goes to lunch with him anyway, and they fall back into their old pattern of not talking much while they eat and he watches whatever game is on the television at the bar. She thinks that if he really wanted her back, maybe he'd try harder. But still, when he asks her to come home with him after work and spend the night, she's lonely enough to agree. She keeps her eyes closed the entire time she's with him, and when he pushes hopefully down on her shoulders she doesn't refuse. She sneaks out in the morning, ashamed that she's not strong enough to say no.

The next afternoon, she applies for a graphic arts class offered by the company, and when she calls Jan to ask for a recommendation to get her in, Jan is thrilled at her interest.

"Finally," she breathes happily into the phone. " Someone at the Scranton branch worth mentoring."

"Uh, yeah," Pam says, never sure how to react to Jan. "Thanks, I, uh, appreciate the help."

She's not surprised when she gets accepted into the graphic arts program. She adjusts quickly to the added demands of spending her Fridays and Saturdays in NYC in class. Jan makes sure that she's set up in the corporate apartment so that she doesn't have to drive home or stay in a hotel, and Jan also runs interference when Michael complains about having to make Ryan handle reception on Fridays. Occasionally she'll have a roommate, always female because Dunder-Mifflin keeps two corporate condos just in case there are women and men who come into town at the same time for meetings.

One Saturday, three weeks into the class, she comes home from NYC to find a small mailer shoved under her door.

_Your copy of the show. It starts airing next week. Michael asked me to drop it off. I've already seen it. Hope you enjoy it, superstar. Ryan._

It feels for a moment like her heart is beating loudly enough to be heard. The blood rushes through her ears and pounds and throbs so insistently that she feels like she might faint. Quickly, she shoves her key in the lock and pushes into her apartment, throwing her bags on the floor and tearing open the envelope.

She shoves the DVD into her player and sits on the couch, teeth tightly clenched.

Six hours later she picks up the phone.


	4. Jim in Stamford

It's different in Stamford. Even more than he thought it would be.

For one thing, there aren't cameras following him around anymore. He'd never thought about that, they'd become such an ingrained part of his daily life. He finds that after a week he stops looking for them whenever anything remotely odd happens. After a week he feels like the stress has drained from his entire body and he can relax for the first time in a year. _Which is strange, because a new job should stress me out, shouldn't it?_

He's actually got his own office, with a door and a window, and a picture of him and Pam that Michael took at the Christmas party in a frame in his top drawer. He's not ready to take that out and put it where he can see it every day, but he's not willing to throw it away yet either. He sneaks a look at it every morning when he comes in, and every morning he tells himself he won't look at it again. But he doesn't move it, and he doesn't throw it away.

He thinks back to his first day in Stamford, when Jan came in and introduced him to the staff, and held a meeting to explain how things were going to work with Jim in charge of the sales team. The staff looked so bored with the entire thing that Jim thought for a moment he was back in Scranton.

He quickly realizes that he's the object of a lot of resentment because of the documentary in Scranton. Although it hasn't aired yet, it's well known in the company that the Scranton employees are soon to be reality television personalities.

He's in charge of three sales reps at the Stamford office. One of them is a man about his age who openly resents Jim because he wants the job that Jim got. That rep, Steve, spends the first half of the week making sure that Jim knows that _he_ knows the only reason Jim got the job is because of the documentary. He's taken to calling Jim a famewhore and pretending to grovel when Jim comes out of his office. But by the end of the week, Jim wins Steve over, and things start looking up. The other two are younger women with outstanding sales numbers and decent attitudes. He's heading up a fantastic team, and he can't believe this was just handed to him.

"You deserve it, Jim. You really were the best salesperson, and you're a natural leader," Jan says. "You're going to do great things in Stamford."

"Dwight was the top salesperson," Jim says, thinking of how Dwight stole his biggest client. He remembers the champagne in his drawer and how he left it on Dwight's desk that day.

Jan rolls her eyes at him. "Dwight may have been the top salesman in numbers, but he is not the best salesman. And, he is _not_ management material, Jim."

She goes on to explain his upcoming schedule, which includes two weeks of management training in the NY offices. After that he'll take his vacation and spend ten days in Australia, trying not to think about Pam.

Pam. He hasn't spoken to her since his last day in Scranton. When he shuts his office door and sits in the incredibly comfy plush leather chair left behind by his predecessor, he touches his fingertips to his lips and remembers how it felt when Pam threw herself on him in the breakroom. He remembers the smell and the curl of her hair, and the way she kept her eyes open when she kissed him, like she was afraid if she closed them he'd disappear. He remembers how it took every bit of strength in him to push her back and tell her no, but he knows he had no choice. _I had to save myself. Nobody else was going to do it for me._

Michael calls him at the end of his first week. Jim's actually happy to hear from him, which surprises him. But Michael's always been easier to handle in small doses, and any familiar voice is welcome.

"So, hey, Jimbo! I guess we'll be seeing more of you down here in Scranton again!" Michael gushes. Jim swears he can hear the shit-eating grin on Michael's face, and is confused.

"Why would I be coming to Scranton, Michael?" He asks cautiously.

"You know, the P-A-M thing? The big secret? It's not a secret anymore and I thought with her calling off the wedding and everything…."

"Wait, what?" Jim says. _What do you mean it's not a secret? She called off the wedding? She didn't call me? _

"You…didn't know?" Michael asks, and damn it, Jim can hear the smirk in his voice. "You didn't know!"

His heart starts to pound and he feels the phone receiver slipping in his sweating palm. Suddenly it feels like a sauna in his office and he's breathing like he just ran up a flight of stairs.

"Michael, am I on speakerphone?" Jim demands. Michael stutters and stalls. "Michael. Am. I. On. Speakerphone?"

"Yeeeessss, " The word is drawn out the way it is when Michael's trying to think of something, anything to say that would keep him from getting into trouble.

"Are the cameras in there with you?" Jim yells.

"Hey, you're starting to sound like Jan! Come on, you signed a release like the rest of us."

"Take me off speaker. Now." Jim refuses to say another word until he hears the speakerphone static disappear. When it does Michael, in a rare fit of thoughtfulness, reminds Jim that the phones are tapped. When Jim finally agrees to talk anyway, Michael happily fills him in that Pam called off the wedding and moved out of the apartment she shared with Roy.

"I think she's still seeing him, though. She didn't call you?" Michael asks.

"No. She didn't." Jim bites his upper lip. Tears well up against the pain, but he bites harder. "Listen, Michael. I've got to get going. It was great to hear from you, though. Really. I'll see you soon."

_She can't still be seeing him. Not if she stopped the wedding. Can she?_

"But what about the…you know?"

_Tell her I still love her. Tell her to call me. Tell her I miss her. Tell her I forgive her for not being certain._

"Tell her I'm happy and I'm doing fine. And that I said hi." He hangs up and puts his elbows on his desk, leaning his face into his hands until his closed eyes are pressing against his clenched knuckles so hard it gives him a headache. Pam. Not getting married. _Why didn't she tell me?_

He thinks maybe he should call her, but then he thinks he might just be the dumbest guy in the world. _It's her turn. If she wanted me, she'd call. Even without Roy, she doesn't want me._

He opens his top drawer and tosses the Christmas party photo into his trash bin.

Pain rolls from his stomach to his throat, and he grabs his leather case (his man purse, Pam liked to call it, because Katy gave it to him) and lets the receptionist know that he's leaving for the day and won't be back for two weeks. He's barely able to hold it together long enough to drop his itinerary and contact information on her desk and wish her a good weekend. When he gets to the elevator, he's relieved to find it completely empty. As the elevator doors slide shut, he breaks into a cold sweat.

Two weeks later, he spends his last day of management training in NY. The corporate condo he uses is two floors up from the one Pam stays in when she's in the city for classes.

Although they come close, they never cross paths.

On Saturday night, long after Jim's passed out asleep and recovering from his trip, his cell phone vibrates and skitters across the top of his kitchen table.


	5. Reunion

Pam wakes up to the insistent sound of her door buzzer. She opens one sticky eye and looks at her alarm clock. Eight o'clock. _I guess it's not that early, but it's a Sunday!_

She guesses it's probably her neighbor, who likes to make sure Pam gets her newspaper even if it means she has ring her buzzer every morning. It's enough to almost make Pam wish she'd stayed in the old place and kicked Roy out. They didn't have any nosy neighbors over there.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." She grabs a robe and rubs her eyes and decides to stop off in the bathroom and brush her teeth, because the neighbor will just leave the paper at her door and stop buzzing if she takes long enough. And she doesn't want to actually talk to the neighbor, so stalling has become a defensive habit.

The buzzing doesn't stop, and Pam rinses her toothbrush and irritably grumbles her way to the door.

"Mrs, Henderson, really, I can get my own paper." She stops short. The person standing in front of her is definitely not Mrs. Henderson. It takes a minute to register, but when it does she quickly puts her hands up to check her hair. _Yup. It's a mess. _"Jim."

He's a mess too. He looks like he's been up all night. Dark circles ring his eyes, and his hair, well, that's always kind of a mess anyway. Right now it's sort of a hot mess, but Pam tries to push that to the back of her mind. _Not now, Pam. If you screwed this up enough, maybe not ever._

"Not Mrs. Henderson, " Jim agrees, and starts hitting buttons on his cell phone. "And I need to know what this means."

He holds the phone out and as Pam hears her own voice coming at her from his speakerphone, she turns bright red. "Jim, it's Pam. I just wanted you to know…I get it."

Mrs. Henderson pokes her head out from her door. "Are you all right, honey? Should I call the police?"

"Everything's fine, Mrs. Henderson," Pam grabs Jim's shirt and pulls him inside. "No need for police. I've got it under control."

Mrs. Henderson looks suspicious. "If you're sure…."

"I'm sure. Thanks. No cops."

She slams the door behind him and punches him lightly in the chest when she sees the bemused expression on his face.

"Wow. That was hot, Beesly. Didn't know you had it in you." His expression quickly turns serious and he holds up the phone. "Do I have to play it again or are you going to explain?"

"No, no, NO! Don't play it again. Gah! I hate the sound of my own voice." She pulls him over to the couch and sits next to him. "First, though, how did you find me?"

"I Googled you?" He guesses. She shakes her head.

"I haven't been here long enough to be listed anywhere yet. And I know the corporate info hasn't been updated. So, how?"

"Ok, I called Michael."

"Michael has my address and phone number at home with him?" Pam's not sure whether to be amazed at Michael's commitment to his job or creeped out that he has her information at his house.

"Er, no. He had to drive into the office and get it for me." Jim can't stop a sheepish grin from creeping across his face.

"Michael went in on Sunday morning and got my address for you?"

"Actually, he went in at four in the morning and got it for me. I think he sent Ryan, to tell you the truth. Either way, you know, it's a two and a half hour drive. I had to wake someone up." Jim's had enough of distractions and he turns the conversation back to what he needs to know.

"After my phone shot across my kitchen and woke me up, I listened to your message. I tried to get back to sleep, but I couldn't. And I didn't want to do this over the phone, so couldn't call you. I called Michael and here I am, " He pulls out his best Ricky Ricardo voice. "So, Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do."

Pam looks at him. She has no idea where to begin, and his eyes are so intent on her that she wavers under his gaze. She opens her mouth and quickly snaps it shut, and looks away from him. "I just meant that…" She stops. "Could you maybe not be looking at me right now?"

"What?" Before either of them can say anything else, she leans in and grabs the front of his sweatshirt and pulls him over to her. Her eyes darken and she breathes into him and blood rushes to his head, pounding in his ears. In the seconds after she touches him, her name escapes his lips. "Pam."

Then she's kissing him and even though he wants an explanation, in this moment he wants this more. Her mouth on his is hot and sure and demanding and making him lightheaded. He shoves the doubt to the back of his mind and gives himself completely over to the feel of her surrounding him, her fuzzy pink robe thick and warm against him. She starts to shrug out of it, pressing more insistently against him.

"Wait," he gasps, pulling away. _I promised myself I wasn't coming here for this. _"We don't do this."

She lets him go and sits back, pulling the robe back over her shoulders and curling her legs underneath her, looking for all the world like a cat. "What?"

"What about Roy? Michael said you're still seeing him."

"I'm not. I mean, I was, but I'm not anymore." She bites her lip, but bravely keeps her gaze on him. _If I look away now, he'll never believe me._

"Are you sure? Because I'm not big on sharing."

"I'm absolutely, positively…" she puts her hands on his and begins leaning back into him, hands walking up his chest until her face is even again with his. She grabs his collar and pulls. "…certain that the only thing I want is you. Do you have any other questions at the moment?"

She's so close to him that it's fogging up his head and making it impossible for him to put a coherent thought together. He holds her gaze for a moment before he shakes his head.

"Good," she says, and smiles at him so brilliantly that he thinks he might lose his mind. "Then I think we do this."

That's all it takes. He grabs fistfuls of fuzzy robe and pulls it down her shoulders, momentarily snagging her hands behind her as the robe tangles around her wrists. Her mouth opens under his and he licks and bites her lower lip while he's still holding her hands behind her back. He can't focus on anything but the sounds coming from low in her throat and he realizes that that he's making the same sounds. She struggles against him a little and he can't hear anything but the rush of his pulse in his head. He lowers his head to her neck and kisses his way back up to her mouth, his tongue leaving a trail of heat.

"Get this thing off me," she groans into his mouth. "I need to touch you."

The robe drops to the floor and she presses back against him. She feels an ache start low in her belly and spread across her center. It spreads until her toes and fingers and face feel flushed and more awake than she's ever felt in her life. She allows the craving to take over as she pulls his sweatshirt over his head. His skin is warm and soft under her fingertips and she moves her hands over his bare chest softly. She feels his muscles tighten under her hands and she looks up at him. His eyes are closed, his breathing coming in ragged gasps and hitching a little every time she moves her hands. She slides them up into his hair and pulls his head down. He moves against her, his mouth over hers, sweet and wet and hotter than anything she's ever felt before. His hands slip down her sides and under the long cotton t-shirt she sleeps in. The skin on her waist and belly is maddeningly soft as he curves his hands around to her back.

"Oh, god. Pam." He grabs her hands. "Which way is your room?"

She leads him down the short hallway into her room and they both stand, looking at the bed. He looks at her, eyes dark and serious, and bows his head to her forehead. They stay that way for a long moment, the silence thick and full of unspoken promise. He closes his eyes and puts his chin on the top of her head, wrapping her in his arms. She snakes her arms around his waist and squeezes hard enough to make a small sound escape his throat.

She lets him go and pulls back a little. "Jim, open your eyes."

He does, and she sees doubt and questions and fear in them. The look in his eyes slices through her.

"I love you, you know. You don't have to worry."

"You said you couldn't," he says.

"I was wrong."

He still looks pensive as he cups her face in his hands.

"What?" she asks. "What are you thinking?"

"I was thinking," he says, as he pulls her onto the bed on top of him, "That I'm really glad you brushed your teeth before you opened the door."

**Ok, that's the end of my little saga. My apologies to Jennifer Crusie, whom I stole the "I think we do this" bit from. Other than that it's all original.**


End file.
